


Electric Affection

by satanibrahimovic



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Drama, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:38:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1991832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satanibrahimovic/pseuds/satanibrahimovic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot collection full of producers that you love (and lust over). Whether you're at Ultra or in a universe far, far away, there may be a story here for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 4 AM - Departure

**Author's Note:**

> (´▽`ʃƪ) Hello! I'm Phuket! After writing on Tumblr for so long, I'm happy to bring my works over here to AO3! There's plenty of fics to post, and if you can't wait for me to update this collection, you can find all of my writings at matthewhellamy.tumblr.com! I'm actually having a fic spam going on for the summer, so please stop by~!  
> (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Thank you all for reading! If there's a certain producer/duo you would like to see--or if you want to read something fluffy or smutty-- please let me know!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Joel, 4 AM meant early wake-up calls, sleepy musings over his life, and thinking of ways to rile everyone up.

"Jesus, who thought it was a good idea to book a flight so goddamn early in the morning?"

"Paul did after you decided it was a good idea to hide Sonny in his suitcase," you reminded your boyfriend sleepily, "I’m surprised he didn’t have a heart attack when he opened it."

"It’s not like this was the first time I did it," Joel snorted, his eyes halfway open, mirroring how his consciousness weaved in-between being awake and deep in slumber. Ever resilient, the lights of New York City were a bright, colorful blur to him as the taxi drove onwards to JFK International Airport. He was sure that it was his drowsy state of mind that made him suddenly reflect on his career.

Here he was, complaining over an early flight time when he had the opportunity to do what he loved for a living, to have others appreciate something he had created, some to the point where his music had actually changed their lives. It was something that never failed to astonish him.

He yawned, blinking his eyes in an attempt to be more alert. The least he could do was appreciate a sight that many dream and save for years to view. He was about to straighten up his posture, but your head, heavy with sleep and dreams, was resting on his shoulder.

'Can't be helped, I guess,' Joel mused to himself, a light grin pulling on his lips as he continued to gaze downwards. He took in how serene you looked, your body curled comfortably against his side. Slowly, he allowed his head to rest on yours.

He made a note to himself to tell Paul how early flights lead to delirious philosophies, but with his current position with you, it was like a physical metaphor of his relationship with you. Whenever he was at his lowest point to where he’s unable to stand, or pick himself up, you were there to support him. From hours spent consoling him with words of encouragement, to a simple hug that assured him that things would be okay, you helped him get through those dark periods.

Now he was next to you, bathed by the lights from outside. Sure, he still felt groggy and a little peeved, but he couldn’t ask for anything else.

And for those reasons where he was unable to return to sleep, yet where “4 x 4 = 12” did in fact seem logical, he murmured,

"Hey, what if I played One Direction during the show?"

"Joel…go back to sleep."


	2. Underneath Your Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the sunglasses and the letterman jacket were off, it was as though Vincent was a different person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ヾ(＾∇＾) Hello! Thank you for stopping by!

Clothes make the man, and your boyfriend was no exception.

When he had on his trademark red-letterman jacket, black sunglasses, his APC jeans, and his pair of white Nikes, he was the cool yet lewd Kavinsky.

But when he was dressed as he was now, casually, with a black polo shirt, a pair of pants and shoes he spent not a second thought on, and a stare that only wanted to look at you, he was Vincent Belorgey, your lover.

The two of you were currently in a small Parisian restaurant. Having just returned from Los Angeles for his Hard Day of the Dead set, Vincent proclaimed that he was "fucking hungry." You thought it would be nice to have dinner together after he had been away, so you suggested that you both share a meal at your favorite restaurant. With his late arrival and the even later hour, there weren't many customers when you both took your seats. Neither of you had qualms to this. The moment was yours.

"Well, how was LA?" You queried before taking a bite of your bread.

A light grin tugged on his lips, "It was fine." He looked visibly fatigued from his flight, but with the way his eyes studied over your features, his expression looked dreamy and love-struck.

"What about your show?" You asked with a smile. "Did the crowd enjoy your new sunglasses?"

"It was fine," was his response, said in the same absent-minded tone.

Pouting, you retorted, "Vincent, are you paying attention?"

"I've missed this."

"What?" That came out of nowhere.

His grin broadening, he reached across the table and gingerly touched your cheek, "I've missed this face..." His fingers traveled downwards, "...these lips." He chuckled when you shyed away, your giggles fluttering from your mouth. "What's so funny?"

"Will your fans ever know how much of sappy romantic you can be?"

"How else are they going to know about the person who makes you blush like this?" Vincent countered, laughing as your face warmed and reddened beneath his touch. Needing no words from you, his hand drew away as he rose from his chair. "Let's go home now."

Confusion on your face, you responded, "I thought you were hungry."

"Did I ever say it was for food?"

You looked at him, utterly stunned.

Vincent smirked, reaching into his pocket before paying for the food you and him didn't get to eat, tossing a pile of American dollar bills on the table before taking your hand in his. He kissed your lips and his stubble tickled your face for the second time that night, and lead you back home.


	3. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whether clothed or nude, you were taking this boy to meet your parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ψ(｀∇´)ψ Slowly but surely, this collection shall gradually move towards my more adult work.

You wondered how you were going to explain to your parents as to why the boyfriend of their daughter (and their potential son-in-law) was running around in nothing but a bow tie and matching pink suspenders and briefs in front of a crowd of thousands. To do that without cringing with sheer embarrassment would require quite the amount of alcohol in your system.

Still, it was amusing and humorous to see Anton look so utterly gleeful as he ran. You couldn’t stop the smile that formed. It would be hard to anyway. You loved the silly, energetic nature of your boyfriend.

When he was finished with his laps, he returned to where you stood backstage, greeting you with a content grin and a kiss to your lips.

“Satisfied?” You asked, smiling widely as he pulled you into a tight hug.

“Hell yeah! I’m like, so amped right now that I could fight a bear and Afrojack,” he chirped in response, earning a laugh from you.

“Is that so?”

“Most definitely! Though you know…,” he said, voice trailing off. You blinked, waiting for him to continue when he suddenly brought his head down, brushing his lips against your ear.

“Running around Joel’s cube wasn’t the only thing I wanted to do seven times tonight.”

...You definitely loved this part of him as well.

Your parents were most likely going to end up having Anton as a son-in-law, but as far as you were concerned, they were just going to have to deal with it.


	4. Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nineteen year-old Hugo finds the 21 age-restriction in American clubs to be very stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (✿´‿`) Thanks for reading!

Reflecting back on all of the shows he had performed throughout his career, Hugo realized that he had never sweated as profusely as he currently was. Though, the perspiration wasn't caused by an exhilarating show or a venue crammed with dancing bodies, but rather a text.

Not just a regular text.

But a sext.

From you.

His girlfriend.

And he couldn't do a thing about it.

Forgetting the whole "The Dangers of Sexting" powerpoint lecture enforced by Vincent and Pedro, Hugo could only stare at the texted picture with wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and an overwhelming thankfulness that he was alone backstage, his tour manager and stage crew away in other places in the venue. He thought of something to reply, but what _could_ he say to something like this?

Taken by the mirrors of the empty restroom next to the club's bar, you took a photo of yourself, your upper-half bare save for your bra while a frustratingly teasing smile pulled on your lips. To rub it in even more, you added the caption, "Guess where I am~".

This was all on purpose, he knew it. On the way here, the both of you were notified by his tour manager that the club wouldn't allow Hugo to venture anywhere else but backstage due to its age restrictions. As you were a few years older, you were free to go out and grab yourself a drink at the bar, thus leaving Hugo to his lonesome. You always had a knack for mischief, which he didn't mind, until moments like these came up.

He wondered what he had done to warrant such torture this time. Was he busying himself with his work and not paying attention to you? Was the wait for _Technicolor_ really that long that his fans had cursed him?

Or maybe, just maybe...

_"Women will be your downfall, Hugo. Take it from us!" Pedro concluded the lecture with a grin, tapping the screen with his metal pointer, the powerpoint slide with various screenshots of his dirty texts with groupies projected onto the plastic surface._

_"Heed our words, Hugo. Women, they'll suck you dry at first, then before you know it, they'll suck you dry again," Vincent added in, bringing his cigarette to his lips before taking a drag._

_Though his mind was wondering whether or not the head of Ed Bangers and the former actor even asked permission from Sebastian to present the lecture in his living room --thus tuning out to such a stupid discussion-- Hugo's eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, "But...that's the same thing."_

_"Context, Hugo, context!" Vincent exclaimed, flicking the French youth in the forehead._

_Pedro laughed as Hugo, with glaring eyes, rubbed his head, "Now Hugo, let us begin a sub-discussion, 'Dames and Texts: How to Counter-Act She-Devils'". Immediately, the lanky teenager held up a hand, loudly interrupting with, "Enough!" Then, a loud yawn was suddenly heard, followed by a surprised, raspy, "Why the hell are you people in my apartment?!"_

Hugo groaned. Of all the parts to stop on, why did he choose to cut off there? Besides the fact that the lecture was given by two deviants?...He hated it whenever he answered his own questions.

In terms of his reality however, he was trapped, his mind in a haze of frustration and need. Knowing you, it was most likely that you would keep this little game up until he was finished with the show. His phone vibrated, and another picture of you appeared on his screen, which only left him breathless. His eyes shifted over to the time. Only a couple more minutes before he had to go perform.

For the sake of his own sanity, he finally and quickly texted a response back. This would be the only way to keep himself calm, for now, at least,

_After the show, I hope you will understand that there is a consequence to everything.  
_


	6. Vandalism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The times when you didn’t mind a bit of graffiti on you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (｀∀´)Ψ Hello there! And so, while I am away for the weekend, here is some of my heathen writings. Enjoy!

Why bother to clean something that would only get dirty right after?

Such was the question you had in your mind, your head attempting to compare your situation with efforts to clean up grafitti in big cities, but the effort was all in vain. He would make sure of it.

You could have easily pushed him away, yet you didn't have the will to do so. Terrible as it was, you enjoyed being with him in this way; your bodies close together on the sofa, his hands journeying over you skin, bare hips rolling against yours, lips on your neck. The latter was what he liked to do most, leave impressions and reminders of your affair for everyone, especially your boyfriend, to see.

Your stomach twisted, hearing Anton calling your name from outside in the hallway. He was looking for you and here you were getting fucked by his best friend on the sofa in the venue's dressing room. You tried to refrain from being too loud, but you were having much difficulty with that. Your nails raked across Porter's shoulders, leaving your own mark on him, one which he probably took pride in. Then, his pace quickened, his hands taking hold of you securely. The two of you cursed when you both came undone, uttering each other's names in-between this moment of selfish indulgence.

When he lifted himself off of you, you were greeted by his lips pushing against yours affectionately. You didn't kiss back. Instead, you sat up and hurriedly pulled on your clothes, fixing your disheveled appearance. You stood, ready to leave when you then glanced over to Porter, you saw that he was dressed, but staring directly at you.

His gaze bored into yours. His expression was indifferent, almost like he was unapologetic for what he had done with you and to his best friend. And yet, when you took a step back, moving a hand up to touch and cover where he had marked your skin, you could almost see his heart break in his eyes. You lowered your head, murmuring something about him not following you out as you slowly exited, leaving him to his solitude while guilt and shame weighed your heart down.

He sighed, murmuring "Shit" under his breath. This would all be so much easier if you didn't love Anton as well. From outside, he heard his friend chirp, "I've been looking all over for you!" He wondered how long it would be until your tryst with him would finally be revealed. This wasn't a matter of if, but when. You could only hide his mark on you for so long.

Later on, when you find yourself alone, you'd probably try to hide your shame with some make-up, or suddenly feel a chill and wrap a scarf around your neck. But he knew better. You could keep cleaning and removing any trace of him all you want. He'd still be back to vandalize you all over again.


	7. Lights Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s only one way to kill time during a blizzard-caused blackout in Moscow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (▰˘◡˘▰) Hello everyone! I have returned from my little trip, and am ready to post more! Enjoy!

"This is fucking _magical_."

Even in a situation like this, you expected Rob to be sarcastic, though the smile that was on his lips was a bit surprising. With a shake of your boyfriend's head, he glanced down at the coffee table before gazing out the window, where the heavy snowfall of a tumultuous Moscow evening displayed no mercy to the streets below. Thanks to the weather, you and Knife Party were stuck in Russia, effectively missing your flight back home. After a successful stint in the country, to have it end on such a note was a disappointment. It was enough to make a person drink out of misery...which Gareth did as soon as you received the news. Though, you weren't sure if he was chugging down his sorrows or felt like getting hammered.

Finished with changing into your sleeping clothes, you turned around from where you stood by the bed, across from where Rob was sitting on the sofa. Smiling sheepishly, you commented, "Well, at least we still have electricity-"

Nope.

In an instant, the entire room was shrouded in darkness while the light hum of the heating system was now silent. Even the lights from street lamps and other nearby buildings were out as well, the moonlight obscured by the harsh snow. You couldn't see Rob and he couldn't see you.

"...never mind."

"Hmph, as I said," he snorted, "fucking magical. I give us five hours before we die a cold, dark death."

"You say this while wondering why everyone thinks you're an Australian Lucifer," you pointed out.

"At least it was stated that Lucifer had a nice voice," he responded back, smugness touching his words. You heard him sigh before he spoke up yet again, "Now, come here so at least I don't die alone."

You started to laugh, taking a careful step forward, "God, have I ever told you how romantic you could be?" The only thing you had to worry about with walking to the sofa was the coffee table, thus you moved with great caution.

"You have, though I've noticed you only say that whenever I'm acting like an asshole."

" _Acting_?" You repeated, unable to hold back a grin. Though as your shin came into contact with the accursed table, a pained noise soon followed. Before you could flail at a sudden lack of balance, Rob grabbed your arm, voicing out an amused, "Huh, there you are" before bringing you to a seat beside him.

"Are you alright?" The lightness in his tone became subdued in favor of concern.

"Yeah...ow, my shin," you winced when you touched the spot that was hit.

"Things are looking up, aren't they?" He asked jokingly as he moved you closer to him, leaning back in the sofa. By his side, there was a comforting warmth that was always so inviting, especially now with such a bleak chill outside. It was something that he rarely exuded, hidden away from interviews and fans. But as his hand gingerly traveled along your side while your head rested against his chest, his tenderness was undeniable. You were the exception to it all and he wouldn't have it any other way.

The room was quiet, save for the wind that whipped through the blizzard, howling from outside. As a thought came to your head, you smiled and said, "I bet Gareth's drinking vodka for heat."

Your arms circled around Rob's torso and you lifted your head to kiss his jaw, "What will we do if it starts getting cold and the power still hasn't returned?"

The hand that was on your side trailed down to the hem of your clothing as he gave his answer,

"Then we'll fuck for warmth."

Your clothes were tugged and your lips were claimed. You were laid down, wishing for light so you could see your lover. In a way, you thought with a moan as his mouth wrapped around one of your nipples while his fingers rubbed against your core, this was like you were being touched by darkness; it wasn't that much of a difference, given the person who he was and the black clothing he wore...which eventually joined yours when you flipped positions with him, sitting right on his hips.

"Oh sure, let me freeze-," you stopped with a quiver when his hand cupped your cunt, one lone finger trailing from your entrance to your clit, "...f-first."

"Why are you stuttering?" There's the snark again. You knew that he was smirking. An argument was about to be uttered, but Rob interrupted, "I feel cold." Your hands were then in his grasp and he ground his hips against yours.

Vengeance would be had another time, you decided while reaching for his hard cock. There was a soft sigh from below, then a long, gorgeous groan as you eased yourself down onto him. Your warm hands were against his chest, supporting your body as you bounced above him, to which he was happy to assist. As marvelous as he was feeling, what he would give to have some light. He wanted to see you ride him, to see your clenched eyes and moaning mouth. But the connection you both shared as you descended, when your hips would meet, hard in just the right way, he couldn't complain too much.

Though he did want to see the face that joined the lovely cry of his name.

Your chest slick and heaving, you fell over him, as he mirrored (or at least, you assumed) your appearance. His hand found your cheek and he kissed your lips. You grinned at the breathy "I love you", which he saw as the power suddenly returned. Wincing from the light, he remarked with a rather exasperated,

"Fucking magical."


End file.
